


cold hands

by euros



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bad stuff happens to Zuko, Character Death, F/M, Katara as a medical intern, Katara as a secret journalist, Katara as an activist, Kya does actually die in this one, Modern AU, Modern Setting, Shady royal family, sickle cell anemia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euros/pseuds/euros
Summary: Katara is a busy undergraduate student who interns at a nearby hospital. She also writes under the pseudonym “The Painted Lady” for the activist blog and paper called “The Freedom Fighters.”She’s stuck though, she cannot figure out what to write for her big article, the one that will bring the whole nation to rally behind their cause—to make the government hear their voices, or to change the regime.
Relationships: Katara and Zuko, Katara/Zuko
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	cold hands

**Author's Note:**

> I might go back and edit this chapter later—just a warning. It’s in my head, I needed it out.  
> It should have more chapters if I’m motivated, and it probably won’t end up being more than 20,000 words. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

_ 4:00am. _

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Katara wakes to the incessant sound of her alarm clock. She reaches for it and slams the “off” button. Groaning, she pushes her messy brown curls out of her face. She despises waking up early, she isn’t a morning person and never has been. Give her the chance and she will sleep well past noon. She rubs her eyes and forces herself to sit up. She shoves the covers aside and she slips out of bed. Her toes hit the frigid cold floor, and she regrets (as she does every icy morning) that she can’t afford an apartment with a better floor-heating system. One that actually works. Shivering, she dresses in her blue scrubs quickly, so as not to allow the frigid air to kiss her skin longer than it needs to. She shuffles down from her bedroom loft and into her kitchen, careful not to wake her roommate or her brother. 

Her slippers, soft and fuzzy, silence the padding of her feet on the hard floor. 

She cringes as she grinds the fresh coffee beans. The machine seems to roar in the sacred silence of the early morning. Despite knowing that her brother sleeps through anything (his loud snoring is famous too), and his door is the one closest to the kitchen, she’s worried she’ll wake him or her roommate, even though here roommate is furthest from the kitchen. Toph is a light sleeper, and even though Katara knows that not one of her early morning activities has ever woken Toph, she worries anyway. 

That’s just the way she is, she worries about everyone. She cares for everyone, she has since her mother died of sickle cell anemia. 

Her mother didn’t receive the proper, working medication from a big name company named Sozin Corporation, which was named after one of the most famous Fire Lord’s in recent history. The Sozin Corporation flaunted it’s great success stories, like the actress who starred in  _ Love Will Come _ and the pop singer who was all but dead until Sozin Corp swept in and provided cutting edge treatments. Many people fell for the advertisements, including her father. 

Her father worked so hard he nearly broke his back to pay for the medications. He worked night shifts and extra jobs and sold off furniture to pay for them, but even after all of his effort, the treatment was not what it was supposed to be. Even though Sozin corporation provided her mother with the “life saving” gene therapy injections at great cost to her family, they did not save her, in fact, her condition worsened and she died just months later. After her death, reporters discovered Sozin Corporations was corrupt, underhanded and even fraudulent. 

The medication they gave her hadn’t even been through the proper experimental process. For all Katara knew, the medication had killed her mother. Perhaps she could have still had a chance at life. 

And so Katara held the anger within her, the anger at everyone: herself, her mother, her father, the doctors, the company, but most of all the government, and most specifically, the  _ Royal Family. _

She hates them with all of her soul. Her father appealed to the police, the lawyers, the government officials, all the way to the Royal Family. And at every turn they were shut down. Everyone ignored her family’s cry for justice, including the Royal Family. She remembers when she and her father appealed to the Fire Lord himself. She remembers how she begged Hakoda to let her come, and how he finally acquiesced. Her father had fought tooth and nail to get them the meeting, but when he spoke about her mother’s death, the Fire Lord laughed and sent him away, saying he had more important matters to discuss. 

_ The palace floor was pure white marble, so shiny that she could see her pale face reflected in its surface. Her footsteps echo in the halls. The grand curtains, red and fringed with gold, are draped around the windows, preventing the light from coming in. What little light does filter in is almost gold in color. The place is dark, but she can still see the portraits of past Fire Lords. Torches line the walls and flicker with each of her short breaths, their warmth illuminating the faces in the portraits and making them feel more menacing. . . and almost alive. She squeezes her dad’s hand. _

_ “Are you sure you want to do this honey?” Asks Hakoda.  _

_ “Yes.” She nods. _

_ She won’t back down, even if she’s intimidated by the largeness and the opulence of it all, including the gold outlining every pillar and portrait. She is nothing if not strong.  _

_ The Guards hold their spears in front of them as she and her Father arrive at the entrance to the Fire Lord’s meeting room. _

_ They wait for their presence to be announced.  _

_ She hears their names echo in the room in front of them. _

_ “Hakoda, previously of the South Pole’s Confederate Tribes, current citizen of the Fire Nation, and a man of many trades, arrives with his daughter, Katara.”  _

_ “Let them in.” booms a voice. Her heart begins to race. Sweat gathers on her palms.  _

_ As the Guards pull their spears away from the entrance, Katara follows her father who pushes the silken curtains to the side.  _

_ He kowtows before the Fire Lord, a harsh looking man with a small black goatee. Katara follows her father’s example and kneels onto the floor, she notices that it is black, but just as shiny as before. In the reflection she can see the Fire Lord’s cruel smile, and a child seated at his side. The child is a girl, one that seems to be around Katara’s own age. But her small little heart is too dead to allow the spark of curiosity that would ordinarily arise from seeing another little girl. This girl could not fathom her pain. _

_ She focuses on slowing her breaths and watching the reflection of the flames raging between herself and the Royal Family.  _

_ Out of the corner of her eye she sees a flicker of motion. A boy is hiding in the curtains. When he notices her glance, he recedes further into his hiding spot. But then he changes his mind and gives her a shy wave as he presses a finger to his lips. A brief quirk at the mouth that resembles a smile curves on her lips, it’s the first one in a long time to grace her face. She almost giggles too, but too soon she recalls why she is here and the weight of grief returns to her shoulders, too heavy for her to take on as her own, but she doesn’t anyway. _

_ The Fire Lord does not indicate that they are allowed to rise from their position. It means that he thinks that they are beneath him. He has recently been crowned Fire Lord so perhaps it is a powerplay. The Royals are secretive and mysterious, but she knows that Prince Iroh should have become Fire Lord. Not this man, the second son, the Prince Ozai. _

_ “What is it that you want?”The Fire Lord addresses Hakoda. His voice is as silken as the curtains and as cold as a viper. She has the distinct impression that a snake will slither towards her and she pulls her hands into fists.  _

_ “I wish to ask for justice for my late wife, the company that provided medication for my wife was fraudulent and corrupt. They gave her medication that should not have been in circulation, and she died as a result.”  _

_ “And why didn’t you go to the police about this, or hire a lawyer?” _

_ “I tried. . . I think some were threatened and some were bribed, and I couldn’t afford to spend enough money to. . .” _

_ “Do you have proof?” _

_ “Yes, I have the papers here.” _

_ Her father reaches into his bag. _

_ “I don’t need to see them,” says the Fire Lord, holding up his hand.  _

_ He continues, “mind telling me how is this my problem?” _

_ “Fire Lord Ozai, all I was hoping was that you might look into this. . . and end the company, or clean it up. Just something. You have the power!” _

_ The Fire Lord sat there for a while, silent and still. His long maroon robes didn’t even seem to rustle when he breathed. _

_ Then he started laughing, a loud bellowing laughter that rang across the room. The flames rose higher and the breath in Katara’s lungs froze.  _

_ “You’re right, I do have the power. I have the power to do whatever I want.” _

_ Out of the corner of her eye she thinks she sees the boy scamper away. What a coward, she thinks. But really, she is afraid also.  _

_ “So please Fire Lord Ozai, help us,” pleads Hakoda.  _

_ “Begging is pathetic,” he pauses, and then continues “and I have more important matters to discuss. You are dismissed.” _

_ Her heart plummets to her stomach. The throne room is spinning around her. She sees red when her eyes land on the smirking girl sitting next to the Fire Lord. She hates that the girl smiles like this is a drama or a comedy show she’s attended. This is her life. This is about justice for her mother, and this girl is enjoying her pain. She’s laughing at her, just like the Fire Lord. The loathing settles deep within her chest, it’s dark and ferocious. It is in this moment that her hatred for the Royal family is born. How could the Fire Lord refuse their request? What was more important than caring for his people. That was his job after all.  _

_ She squeezes her eyes shut and refuses to let the hot tears fall. She refuses to scream and throw a fit. She is eight years old, but she knows that that would show that she was hurt. And by the spirits she will never let this horrible man know he has power over her. She walks out defeated, and her heart sits frozen in her chest, as untouchable as cold stone and as unmoving as hard lead.  _

_ As eight year old Katara grows older she realizes it’s the darker shade of her skin, her bright blue eyes, and the fact that her family is an immigrant family, that contributes to why the Royal Family ignores their pain and refuses to exact justice. She hates it, and she always will. The injustice of it crawls about her skin and needles her sore anger. She is appalled, sickened, disgusted, and hurt. She feels so empty. And she feels so alone that she sometimes thinks she is on her own little island where no one else can understand her pain. She thinks she will remain forever alone in her sea of anguish. _

_ But finally, when she meets a boy named Aang at school, she realizes that she isn’t as alone as she thought. He introduces her to people all over the Nation who have lost something at the hands of the Royal Family and their ambitions, or has been oppressed by them and their tyranny. People like Jet, Smellerbee, Longshot, Teo, Jin and Song. She even goes to school with some of the kids. Then she doesn’t feel so isolated, and she finds a beauty in it, that people from all over, with so many differences, rich and poor, native and immigrant, famous and forgotten, could find strength within their shared pain. And together, they can find comfort and courage.  _

_ “Katara, welcome to the Freedom Fighters,” says Aang. _

_ “Freedom Fighters, this is our newest member Katara,” he finishes .  _

_ “Welcome,” says a boy dressed in sloppy, mismatched clothes. _

_ “Thanks, I’m excited to be here.” _

_ “It’ll be nice to have a pretty girl like you among our ranks,‘Tara.”  _

_ “Oh,” she blushes.  _

_ The boy pulls the piece of grass he’s been chewing out of his mouth and tosses it casually into the trash. He leans against the wall.  _

_ “I’m Jet, by the way,” he said. _

_ “I’m Katara, I mean--but you already knew that,” she mumbles. She twirls her hair around her fingers.  _

_ “I sure did, and it’ll be hard to forget your name with eyes like yours.” _

_ “Thanks,” she mumbles, turning her head away from him to hide her blush. _

_ “So, who did you lose?” _

_ “What?”  _ _  
_ _ “Everyone here has lost something or someone,” he shrugs his shoulders, “you look like you lost someone.”  _

_ “My mom.” Her fingers brush her necklace.  _

_ “What happened?’ _

_ “The Fire Lord refused to hold the company who sold us useless medication responsible, my mom died and so did many others who were promised life, and the Fire Lord didn’t care. He didn’t do anything!” She can hardly talk about it without crying. She tells herself not to, but it’s no use. The tears are falling again.  _

_ “Katara,” says Jet.  _

_ “What?” She sniffles.  _

_ “Don’t cry. Don’t let them win.”  _

_ So she stops crying and looks up.  _

_ “When I was six, my parents were sentenced to death for espionage. They weren’t spies, but they were killed anyways. I saw it happen too.”  _

_ “That’s awful!” She cries out. _

_ It’s too cruel. The anger swells in her.  _

_ “And Smellerbee over there, she was orphaned too, but she doesn’t even know what happened to her parents.They just disappeared.”  _

_ “Jin over there, her older brother was a police officer--killed by friendly fire, but the guy wasn’t given prison time. He’s still working, still breathing, still living, while Jin's brother is six feet under.”  _

_ “And Teo has been refused from every school on account of his wheelchair. The Fire Lord didn’t allow the law through that would make discrimination illegal against those with disabilities.” _

_ Her heart stings for these people she doesn’t know--but she feels like she does know them somehow. Maybe she doesn’t know them, but she knows their pain.  _

_ When she sees that others suffer too, it ignites a fire in her, she wants to fight for herself, her mother, her family, and the community there. It was at this moment that she decides she wants become a doctor, she will save people like her mother, and she will join this political activist group, and demand justice for the abused. For the first time in a long time, she feels alive. Her blood thrummed in her veins and her head came up for breath. She has a purpose. She has connections with people like herself.  _

_ They are in this together. _

It was this group that played an enormous role in her life. It was a catalyst for her activism and her determination. It has helped shape her into who she is today. She still participates and loves this group. In this group they support each other, protest the government, demand justice and even use journalism to expose the lies the government tells them. She writes for their anonymously published paper and blog called the  _ Freedom Fighter _ in her spare time, when her busy schedule allows and even when it doesn’t. It is a passionate hobby of hers, and she finds the time even in exhaustion to write for it, even during her midterms and finals, even during her busiest internships. 

She will not back down, the Royal Family, the dictator himself is responsible for their suffering. She hears the whispers, she and many others suspect the Fire Lord is preparing for war with other nations. Instead of caring for the people on his own, he plans to sacrifice them to an endless war. When she can devote proper attention to this she intends to investigate. 

She turns towards the coffee machine, and then turns her back to the rooms where Sokka and Toph sleep.

Sleep she often tells them, is vital for the brain and body, though she rarely listens to her own advice. She stays up late into the night and sometimes the early morning hours, watching the moon rise into the sky. Despite their complaints, her friends have been unable to stop her motherly behaviors. Sometimes, she thinks they might even appreciate them, in a sort of grudging, but affectionate way. 

But most of the time she probably annoys them. 

She pours the coffee grinds into the filter, and places it into the coffee machine. She opens the top of the machine and fills it with water. 

She presses the button and sighs. 

No matter how many early mornings she has, she always feels like she’s been hit with a truck in the morning. 

Adminst the quiet rumble and hissing, coffee drips slowly into the pot. She lays her head down on the counter and watches, while the warm coffee scent wafts to her nose, arousing her previously deadened senses.

Still mostly drowsy, she notices how dark it still is outside, she knows that later in the morning the yellow and orange rays will peek from under the horizon and bring light the the day, but for now, the dark seems ominous and unwelcoming. Even without a weather forecast, she knows the morning weather will be a vicious, biting cold, and the sky will be blanketed with sheet-like grey clouds. She could not explain how she knew, she simply did. Part of her enjoys the cold because it was cold in the South Pole, but sometimes, all it does is draw the memories of the 

She groggily pulls a mug from the cabinet and pours herself a full cup. She foams her milk and half and half until it is fluffy and hot, just how she likes it. 

She sips slowly, holding the mug with the tips of her fingers, it burns in a pleasant way; it burns like the Fire Nation sun in the summer months. 

She opens her laptop and tries to start her new article. She and the Freedom Fighters want it to be the one that calls for revolutionary change, she’s tired of these baby steps, and so are they. They have waited patiently and have played the political game. But it's time to pull the entire nation behind their goals--to make the government listen to them, and if it doesn’t, to call for a change of regime--and see it happen. 

But there is no topic nuanced or complex or emotional enough to excite the entire Nation into action. Or at least, she can’t think of anything. This article will be one for the museums and the history books, the entire nation will see it, and yet... she is hit with writer’s block. The most important writing of her entire life and she cannot think of a word to say. She stares as the blank screen in front of her and watches the cursor blink in and out of existence on the page before she realizes she cannot push through this block. At least not yet. She’s their most brilliant writer at _The_ _Freedom Fighter._ That’s why they chose her to write this, and why she gets to decide the topic. She’s failing them. She senses that the story she needs is just around the corner, or just under her nose, or perhaps lost somewhere in her past. 

Perhaps she will write about her mother, or about another member of the Freedom Fighters. They have enough followers to really make a difference now, especially because they are so loyal to her, not just her cause. Her talent as a writer under the pseudonym “The Painted Lady,” is more than just talent for language and words. She has a special ability to reach through the pages and connect with the reader, whoever he or she is. 

She knows that her writing will flow when she finds the thing to write about; when she’s passionate, she can turn anything into a compelling story. 

She won’t force it, for now. Perhaps it will come to her today, or sometime this week. She will wait patiently, but not forever, the political climate is ready for a change now. 

She walks up towards the window and stands very close. The city lights shine at her, but not a star in the sky is visible. She can hardly remember her childhood home, but when she does she recalls the night with a vivid clarity; the glittering sky and the bright full moon. Her breath clouds over the window, and she peers at her reflection. 

She hopes that when others see her they don’t see what she sees in the mirror. What she sees in the mirror is an empty, tired, angry young woman, hiding a darkness, a spitting hatred within her heart. She’s ashamed of this hatred, this impurity inherent within her. She does not want to admit it to herself let alone the family and friends who hold her up as the epitome of moral perfection. She knows in her heart she is not. 

_ But she’s better than the Royal Family.  _

Then she returns to the kitchen to cook a simple breakfast. 

First she rinses her rice, and as it cooks, she makes her eggs. The eggs she whisks with milk and she sprinkles pepper and salt, she chops carrots, peppers and onions and scrapes the back of the knife against the cutting board until all the stray pieces make it into the bowl. After mixing everything together, she pours the mixture into her stock that she has in a pot, she covers it as the eggs cook.

It’s a simple meal, but it does the trick. She eats quickly. 

She rinses her bowls and pot, and leaves them on the rack to dry. 

She grabs her bag, her coat and her keys.

Pulling on her shoes, she steps into the cold, it knocks the breath right out of her, teeth chattering and breaths leaving her mouth in clouds, she pulls her coat more tightly around her. Checking her cell phone weather app, it is as she suspects: record cold. 

And It’s 4:50. 

She hurries her steps, it takes her fifteen minutes to pick up a cup of tea from the Jasmine Dragon, she always goes before and after her shift, even if she’s had three cups of coffee, partially because she is addicted to caffeine, but also because she adores Mushi. And after that it takes her ten minutes to walk to the hospital. 

Her shift starts at 5:15. She’s cutting it close, and for an intern who is dedicated to make it to med school, that is not a good way to get stellar recommendation letters. 

When she arrives at the Jasmine Dragon she finds that it is closed. The gold and green dragons twisting in the painting just by the door are lovely. She’s surprised that she hasn’t noticed them before. She knocks on the door just in case. It wasn’t closed during her shift last Wednesday. 

She huffs in frustration. Mushi is always up this early preparing the pastries, and he always greets her with a smile and a piping hot pastry while the tea finishes steeping. 

They usually chat for a while, he asks her about her classes and her ambitions, and then she is off. She likes this part of her day, but she must get to the hospital even if he is opening late today. 

But just as she is stepping away, she notices a hastily scribbled message that appeared to have fallen from the door. 

“Closed Indefinitely, family emergency.” 

Her eyebrows knit together with worry, and surprise. Mushi never mentioned his family, she didn’t even think he had one, she didn’t ask because she didn't want to pry. 

She attempts to place the message somewhere where others will see it, but when it slides down three more times, she leaves it on the cheesy doormat that says “Knock and I will sing to you the song of my people, with love, the Dog.” And below the other sign that says “All are welcome to share in the great joy that is tea and friendship.” 

She chuckles and walks towards the hospital. She rubs her numb hands together when she arrives in the hospital and the warm air hits her cheeks, red and bitten from harsh wind.

She leaves her bag, keys, coat in her locker, grabs her notebook, and her pencil and pen, and proceeds to the computer room, where she prints out her patients list, and the sheets where she records information about the patients. 

She sees that the first patients on her list are children, she’s pleased because she loves children, but she hates to wake them so early. 

She sneaks into the first boy’s room, she has a seizure disorder. The doctors are still arguing over the diagnosis. Some of the doctors are considering giving his corpus callosotomy, but the other doctors argue that without a proper diagnosis, and knowing exactly what she has, it’s too risky. Katara agrees, cutting the corpus callosum would have consequences that the doctors should not risk unless they knew without a doubt that it would absolutely help. The boy would lose feeling in half his body, and would struggle to learn and relearn tasks. He could handle it, he was young, and it was better done young when the brain was more plastic, but it was still an extreme solution.

“Lee,” she whispers softly, while touching his shoulder. 

“It’s time for your checkup and your medication,”

“Okay,” mutters the boy groggily as she sits up. 

Katara gives her a warm smile. 

“Have any good dreams Lee?”

“Yeah! I did.” He exclaims, lighting up as only a six year old can. 

“Oh, what happened?” 

“Well, there was this lion chasing me! And I thought he wanted to eat me, but he just wanted to be friends.” 

“So you made a new friend?”

“Yup!” 

She checks Lee’s vital signs, scribbles some observations down and gives the boy his medication. 

Her next patient is just next door, a narcolepsy patient. She makes sure not to excite the patient too much, and moves on to the third patient of the day. 

She reads the patient summary. The patient is a little girl who survived a car accident that her mother did not. 

Katara closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and reaches for the door knob. 

The girl lies in bed limply, one hand angled near her mouth, the other splayed across her stomach. Her mouth is slightly open. Her face is black and blue, and blood oozes through one of the bandages that wraps around her head. Katara hesitates to wake her. Wake her and she brings her into a world where her mother is dead, wake her and she draws her from her world of safety and hopes and dreams, wake her and she crushes this little girl’s heart. 

_ “Mom. I’m scared.” whispers Katara. She’s next to her mother in her hospital bed, looking into her eyes, they haven't lost their twinkle. But the exhaustion is clear in her lethargic movements, the ones that indicate every breath is pain, every small movement as excruciating as though a thousand knives are cutting her to shreds. Katara’s breaths, her mother’s breaths and the drip of the morphine are the only sounds in the room for what seems like an eternity that slips away too quickly. She tries to hold onto this eternity that slips away too quickly. But no matter how hard Katara tries, she cannot stop time.  _

_ And even though Katara might be eight, it does not escape her notice how excruciatingly pale and sickly her mother’s skin has become. She watches her stiff movements and worries.  _

_ She grips her mother’s hand like a lifeline. She will never let go. Never. Not for the eternity that slips away too quickly.  _

_ She can feel it, though she cannot put into words what it means. She cannot let the suspicions that are only thoughts and feelings congregate in her mind, if they congregate then they will piece together what the future holds, and eight year old Katara does not want to face that possibility, let alone think about it. But it’s coming all the same. She knows it, she can feel it in her whole body, in her bones and in her blood, it's coming and she is helpless to stop it. She holds onto the eternity that slips way too quickly.  _

_ “Never let me go mom!” She cries.  _

_ “Katara. Look at me.”  _

_ Katara sniffles. _

_ “Yes Mom.”  _

_ Kya grabs her daughter with a strength that a sick woman should not have, but the strength that only a woman who is a mother can have.  _

_ “I will never leave you, do you understand me.” Her mother looks into her eyes with a serious, stern look on her face. It’s a loving look, but a firm one all the same.  _

_ “Even when I’m gone, I’ll still be with you.” _

_ Katara hears “gone.” The idea she’s been trying to prevent from coalescing in her mind materializes as the pieces shift and fall into place.  _

_ “Don’t say that! Don’t say that! Don’t say that! You’re staying here with me and Sokka and Dad and Gran-Gran, you’re staying! You’re staying with us forever and you’re never leaving!”  _

_ Katara holds her mother’s warm hands.  _

_ Katara’s bawls continue, “please mom, please.”  _

_ Her outburst doesn’t stop her from smiling at her daughter. It’s a sad, accepting smile. The one a person gives on her deathbed, knowing she can’t change it however much she wants it to. It’s the smile of a woman who has seen her fate coming longer than anyone else, and has refused to resist the inevitable in a futile and undignified manner. Kya is graceful and brave, has been and always will be that way until her last breath leaves her body.  _

_ “Katara,” _

_ “Katara,” she whispers again softly. Katara struggles to get her cries under control.  _

_ “Come here sweetie.”  _

_ Kya wraps her daughter into her arms with the strength fueled from a mother’s love, without it she would not have the energy. She strokes her daughter’s hair and wipes away her tears.  _

_ “I don’t want you to go mom.”  _

_ “I don’t want to go either. But I can’t control it. So we must accept it.” _

_ “But I don’t want to mom.”  _

_ Kya smiles her soft smile again.  _

_ “Oh my sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”  _

_ “I know mom.” _

_ “I want you to have my necklace,”  _

_ Katara gasps.  _

_ “ Do you remember the story surrounding the necklace?”  _

_ “Of course mom.”  _

_ Kya pulls her necklace from her side table and hands it to Katara.  _

_ Her hands squeeze her daughter’s. “Be brave and be strong my baby girl. I’ll always be with you.”  _

_ Kya’s snow lavender and ice rose perfume lingers on Katara’s nose.  _

_ “I can’t mom. I’m scared.  _

_ “You have to be scared to be brave. You have to work through the fear, you must act in spite of fear. That is what it means to be brave, darling.” _

_ “Okay mom.”  _

_ Kya leans back on her pillow, worn out. Katara is still holding her mother’s warm hands. She snuggles up next to her mom, careful not to hurt her.  _

_ The nurse comes in to check on her.  _

_ “Why don’t you go find your dad?” Suggests the nurse.  _

_ “No,” says Katara.  _

_ “Why not?”  _

_ “He has to pick up my brother from school.”  _

_ “Oh I see.” The nurse leaves to check on other patients.  _

_ She didn’t understand why her brother went to school anymore. But his way of dealing with things was avoidance, it seemed. Katara, however, throws a terrible fit if her father tries to send her to school. He says she is too strong willed for him to argue with. She spends every spare moment she has with her mother, holding onto eternity that slips away too quickly.  _

_ “I love you mom,” she whispers. _

_ “I love you too, my sweet girl.” _

_ She falls asleep holding onto her mother’s warm hands.  _

_ She rises from sleep holding onto her mother's cold hands.  _

_ Cold hands held in her own. _

_ Cold hands. _

_  
_ _ She cries. _

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you want, I love hearing your thoughts.


End file.
